Be My Lady
by Croik
Summary: KristophxCalisto: 4 snapshots over 18 years. Contains major Gyakuten Kenji spoilers! SPOILERS!
1. Part 1

Gyakuten Kenji / Ace Attorney: Investigations, its characters and settings, are property of Capcom and are being used here without permission but for no profit. This fic is rated PG, for suggestive themes.

**Be My Lady**

Part 1 of 4

* * *

The first time Kristoph met Calisto Yew, he had to pull her, crying and flailing, away from his father.

By then Arthur Gavin's face was red with welts drawn by the woman's nails. He cursed and swung his briefcase at her, and had to be detained by the bailiff. The courtroom was already in chaos: the prosecutor stood, slack-jawed and speechless, behind his bench; the defendant shoved past the emptying gallery with smug self-assuredness; the Judge shook his head and banged his gavel in futility.

Within the tumultuous wake of the verdict Kristoph pulled Calisto up against the gallery wall, shielding her from the onslaught of reporters and officers, and they from her. He got several jabs in the ribs and broken glasses in the process but in time she calmed, and sobbed into the shoulder of his vest. It was then, as she trembled against him in seemingly helpless distress, that he realized she was faking.

After that day, Courtroom 3 only saw petty disputes for some time. The bailiffs whispered that sometimes they could still hear Calisto's mournful wails, as if her living ghost had been left behind to haunt the site where justice was robbed from her. She remained thus, a legend on the edge of remembrance, until resurrected by a case that no one had expected to be worthy of note.

The court was set; all but the defendant's attorney were at their places, prepared to go through the motions of an unentertaining misappropriation of public funding case. Just as the Judge began to ask after the missing lawyer the courtroom doors flung open in grand fashion, and to the bench strode a woman in a tailored suit with gold emblems piercing her ears. She carried herself with a Valkyrie's brutal grace, and her tall heels tapped a percussive rhythm that cut above the murmurs of the court. And at her side walked the boy that no one forgot, because no one had noticed him in the first place.

Prosecutor Faraday stared at the entrance spectacle with wide and incredulous eyes. His recognition of them both was instantaneous and mind-erasing. "What is this?"

Calisto addressed the court. "My apologies for my tardiness." Her briefcase clapped loudly on the defense bench. "Calisto Yew, Your Honor, taking over the defense of Mr. Winslet."

The Judge frowned at her. "Is Mr. Gavin unwell?"

"Extremely unwell," Calisto replied. "In fact, he's dead."

Shock rippled across the courtroom, and affected none so greatly as Prosecutor Faraday. "Are you joking?" he demanded. "When? How? Why wasn't I told?"

"His body was discovered this morning at his home," said Calisto. "I'm afraid all other details are in the hands of the detective in charge. But it's not related to our case at hand, so--"

"How can we know that if the details haven't been released?" True to his reputation Faraday's cheeks flushed darker with each passing moment. "And what are _you_ doing here? Are you even qualified to--"

Kristoph interrupted him, his voice eerily calm, his face unmoved. "Calisto Yew is an employee at Gavin & Co. Law offices. She has been briefed on the case, and as the inheritor of my father's business, I approve of her taking this case."

"Your father?" the Judge said. "_You're_ Kristoph Gavin?"

"Yes." Kristoph took a deep breath. "My father committed suicide," he declared to another round of gasps. "I can assure you that he has been unwell for many months. His death has nothing to do with the current case."

"And so," Calisto took over for him, "there is no reason for us to delay the proceedings now. Shall we begin the trial?"

The courtroom hushed, and though Prosecutor Faraday was still stunned by the events, he had no choice but to agree. The Judge banged his gavel, and thus the trial lurched into motion. Kristoph remained at Calisto's side but offered not another word for the entire two hours and thirty-seven minutes it took for her to win her case.

In the days to follow, reporters would broadcast the return of Calisto to the world of law as frantically as if she were a ghost brought back from the dead. They would speculate that a thirst for vengeance against the justice that had failed her had driven her into the heart of the corruption she should have despised. They questioned, too, the calm and apparently unimpassioned face of Kristoph Gavin as he confessed his father's tragic fate. Future appearances would convince everyone that those moments of apathy were merely his shock impairing his ability to mourn, and that he was in reality a young man rich in manners, warmth, and professionalism. But Calisto's reputation was set, written twice into legend as the immortal adversary of the Los Angeles Justice Department.

But none of that had happened yet. Immediately after the trial Calisto had heated words with Prosecutor Faraday and then left the courthouse with Kristoph. She drove him to her small apartment downtown, and had only leftovers to feed him, but he was grateful. They ate in silence and several times Kristoph felt her look at him in fascination. He knew what she wanted to ask, and decided to answer before he had to listen to her form the words. "I'm all right."

"Hm?" Calisto took a long gulp from a bottle of iced tea and then passed it to him. "Is that so?"

He didn't wipe the rim. "My father killed himself last night. Isn't it normal to ask?"

"Maybe it is," she conceded. "But you're not all that _normal_, are you?" She dropped her chin into her palm as she watched him drink. "I can tell when you're lying, even though you are very good. You'll only get better with age."

"I could say the same about you," Kristoph said. "On all counts."

Calisto frowned at him, her pink lips pursed and perfect. "Are you calling me a liar, little boy?"

"Am I wrong?" He met her gaze. "Your sister's death didn't mean to you what it should have. Everyone's going to think you murdered my father because he helped her killer go free, but they'll never be able to prove it, because you never hated him to begin with, did you? That was part of your act."

Calisto's eyes narrowed. "You think because your daddy offed himself you understand death now?" she challenged. She rose from her chair and circled toward him, slowly. "What it _should_ mean to me? Who the hell do you think you are?"

She leaned her hip against the kitchen table and snatched his hand. The bandages crossing it were fresh, and when she squeezed, she felt them grow warm with blood. He flinched back, and tried to continue to meet her eye to eye, but she was stronger than him in every regard.

"A cute little rich kid like you has no idea what death and vengeance mean to me," she said as she glared down at him. "How much I sacrificed to get here--what I went through having to work for your father, of all people. How do you know I didn't kill him anyway?" She squeezed again and he grimaced. "Just because you found the body doesn't mean you're a forensics expert, does it? How can you be sure I didn't set it up to look like a suicide?"

Kristoph's eyes watered; though his hand throbbed he didn't try to escape her. "Because _I_ killed him," he said.

Calisto let him go, and watched him for several beats in silent surprise until he added, quietly, "Figuratively."

"Figuratively," she repeated.

And then she laughed. It was the first time he had heard her do so, and it was the first time he had seen her sincere. As he cradled his aching palm she reached out, plucking off his glasses and smoothing his hair. "You poor thing," she cooed as her warm fingertips brushed his cheeks. She took her weight from the table and urged him upright. "You're right, I didn't kill him. I'll leave it on you, if that's how you want it." She steered him towards a nearby sofa. "Get some sleep before the cops come looking for you. You'll need it."

Kristoph followed her guidance. As he shed his vest and shoes he glanced up to her again. "You're still a liar," he reminded her. "What do you want now that he's dead?"

Calisto stared down at him, and for a moment her eyes softened. She looked past him into an abyss. He wondered if she often looked that way, on the cusp of honesty, and felt in him rise a sensation of possessiveness.

"He put me in charge of the firm until you're old enough to take it over," she said. "Legally and...figuratively." Her eyebrow arched. "If you decide to go into law at all."

"I am," he replied quickly. "Whatever you're after, I'm not going to let you do what you like with his firm."

"All right." Calisto laughed again as she loosened her tie and walked away. "In that case, we're going to know each other for a long time, huh?"

Kristoph watched her leave. He lied back on the lumpy sofa and trembled--not in resentment for Calisto's laughter, but because he welcomed it. She was a mystery, the legend Courtroom 3 would remember her to be, and because he knew what she looked like when she lied, she was the only person Kristoph would ever trust.

He would think about her at least once every day until the moment of his execution, seventeen years after huddling with her against the gallery wall.


	2. Part 2

Gyakuten Kenji / Ace Attorney: Investigations, its characters and settings, are property of Capcom and are being used here without permission but for no profit. This fic is rated PG.

I meant to explain that 17 year old Kristoph's legal guardian is a distant relative who lives with him in his father's house--or so the courts believe. I couldn't find a way to work it into the fic gracefully but I didn't want you to think I forgot he's still a minor! Oh well.

**Be My Lady**

Part 2 of 4

* * *

It was a rainy night in September when Kristoph was distracted from his news-watching by the doorbell.

He answered. Calisto stood on the front step; not unusual in itself, except that she was dressed almost entirely in tacky denim and was soaking wet. Her make-up was running and she held a plastic garbage bag close to her chest. "I need an hour," she said.

Kristoph stepped aside and then closed the door behind her.

"I assume the police have been here already," she said as she headed straight for the first floor bathroom. "I let them spot me by the airport, so hopefully that will throw them off the scent for a while. I'll be gone by the time they figure it out and come back."

Kristoph followed her, and stood in the doorway as she stripped out of her soaking jacket. He had been watching the news coverage all evening but had not expected that she would come to him. It was a risk she should have been too cunning to take. "They were here," he confirmed. "Detective Badd and some officers." He adjusted his glasses and scrunched his nose. "They fingerprinted the front door."

"Then you'll have to clean when I'm gone." She pulled her T-shirt over her head and let it fall with a wet thud, followed by her jeans. Her lack of modesty made Kristoph blush, but she didn't say anything so he didn't look away. And he was glad for the strange opportunity; he had seen her in nothing but a suit all the times they had met, except for the first. She had been wearing a dress then. He could still remember the feel of the fabric under his fingers.

"I suppose I shouldn't bother asking if it's true," Kristoph said. He watched her earrings fall and break against the cold tile of the bathroom floor.

Calisto broke the ties in her hair and turned the sink faucet. "You've always said I was a liar," she replied as she washed the mascara trails from her face. "You didn't think I was capable of murder?"

Kristoph frowned, not certain if he should be proud or ashamed that he had indeed considered it. They had known each other for almost three years, and in that time learned a great deal about each other as she tried case after case in his father's name, and he sat in the gallery. They had even shared a few luncheons, talking idly about the approach of his eighteenth birthday when Gavin & Co. Law would be legally his, and the years later when he would finally be qualified to practice alongside her. Seeing her now, pale and half naked in his bathroom, he realized he had never expected that future to be real.

He touched her shoulder, and she flinched--shied away from him in a way he had not witnessed before. She stared back at him, hiding everything, not succeeding, and the truth was easier to discern from her than ever. "Why did you kill them if you didn't want to?" he asked, fascinated by the way her eyes darted away.

Calisto hunched her shoulders and bit her lip. She was uncertain and resentful, and she had never been more beautiful. "I need a pair of scissors," she said.

Kristoph returned with a pair of scissors and a stool. He cut her hair down to jagged inches, and left bangs down to her eyebrows. When she handed him a box of red hair dye from her trash bag, he worked it over her scalp without question. She put on fresh make-up: thick concealer over her freckles, and dark eye shadow so different from the girly pink that was her usual.

He helped to transform her. There was something chillingly intimate about the process. Kristoph appreciated more than most the weight of appearance, and the act of desecrating it. By the time they were both finished she was almost unrecognizable, and he felt, with regret and unexpected satisfaction, that he had somehow killed her.

"I probably owe you the truth," Calisto said as she studied herself in the mirror. "I'm sure you've guessed half of it by now. Me, your father, that asshole Manny...I'd say more, but you know how it is."

"You'd have to kill me?" Kristoph supplied. When she allowed him room at the sink he washed the traces of dye off his hands and forearms like a post-op surgeon. "I know how it is."

Calisto laughed; she had not truly changed at all.

Kristoph fetched a towel from the laundry room while she used the blow-dryer on her hair. On his way back he remembered the news was still playing, and paused to hear the update on the fugitive chase. Detective Badd and his men were still at the airport, having assumed that their quarry had tried to flee the country. Kristoph glared smugly at blue and red flashing on the screen. They would never find her so long as he harbored her.

When he returned to the bathroom Calisto was using the dryer directly on her still-worn bra. He blushed again at the sight, but she did not bother to stop or even turn her back once she noticed he was there. "How much time do I have left?" she asked.

"You've been here for thirty-seven minutes," Kristoph said. She finished with the dryer, and rather than simply hand her the towel he took it upon himself to wrap it around her. She seemed surprised at first, but soon relaxed as he rubbed the remaining chill out of her bony shoulders and back. "But Badd is still at the airport. It's at least a forty minute drive from here."

"He'll be back soon, and you'll need time to clean up after me." Calisto sighed, and abruptly leaned into his chest.

Kristoph froze. The cold of her skin seeped easily through his thin cotton dress shirt--except around her breasts, warmed by the dryer and pressed ever so gently against him. She had been taller than him once, but at last puberty had given him the advantage, and she fit snugly against his body and under his chin. He would never again be able to smell fresh hair dye without remembering the feeling of a woman curled in his arms.

"I think I might miss you, kid," Calisto said, and when she hummed he felt her nose vibrate gently against his throat. "I was looking forward to you being my boss someday. Maybe in my next life."

Kristoph's eyes narrowed, and his hands tightened possessively against her shoulders. "So that's it?" he asked. "You've been using me ever since we met, and now you leave." But he wasn't accusing--he was even smiling. He did better on his own anyway. "Is this where you say I'll never see you again?"

Calisto hummed again. "Not exactly. But even if you _see_ me again, that doesn't mean you'll _recognize_ me."

He scoffed. "I'll recognize you."

And he was right. When she leaned back she looked like a stranger, but he could see Calisto behind the faade. It was not something as obvious or common as the shape of her eyes, or the traces of freckles still visible through her make-up; it was the faint simmer of fear beneath her surface. It was the cold calculation, the bitter humor, the birth of deceit. As long as they were so similar, he would pick her out of the crowds for years to come.

She kissed him. Her lips were assertive, as possessive against his mouth as his hands were on her shoulders. She tasted like lipstick and she didn't close her eyes. Hers wasn't the first kiss Kristoph had experienced, but it was the first he savored: hot, audacious, perfect. Not without regret. Inescapably real.

Calisto touched his shirt collar, alternately plucking at and then smoothing down the little buttons. Deciding. Kristoph waited for her to come to whatever decision she was hesitating over, but he did not let her go, or even let her lips get too far out of range. Thankfully, she did not hold him in suspense for long. Time lurched forward and she twisted her arms behind her back, unhooking her bra.

It wasn't that she wanted him--in fact, he was so much younger and less experienced than him that, had she felt any real desire, he might have thought less of her for it. She was leaving her mark on him. Their bodies forged a new landscape, one that would no longer render courthouse luncheons and justice-scale earrings. Whispered breath exorcised the lawyer-legend that had for three years resided in slender limbs and pink eye shadow. His first was her last, the final deed of a mask already failing, and when she trembled in his arms he felt her death as clearly as he had her birth.

Calisto Yew ceased to exist.

Gone went the wife of Adam. In her wake Kristoph was spurred to frenzy, erasing her every trace. He cleaned the doorknob, the front hall, and the bathroom. He washed the tacky denim and when it was dry packaged it into a box and hid it in the attic, rather than risk it being discovered in the trash or the fireplace. He washed his clothes and replaced his glasses. He turned the sofa cushions over.

Two days later, Detective Badd returned with his men. They fingerprinted his door again, searched the attic and the living room, but no one noticed the extra box already covered in dust and a new couch was no grounds for questioning let alone arrest. They left with nothing and Kristoph glowered triumphantly at their backs. She was still safe by him.

He would never see Calisto again, but he was glad knowing that he would be able to spot her whenever they next met. All he had to do was wait for her to lie.


	3. Part 3

Gyakuten Kenji / Ace Attorney: Investigations, its characters and settings, are property of Capcom and are being used here without permission but for no profit. This fic is rated PG and contains SPOILERS.

**Be My Lady**

Part 3 of 4

* * *

Seven years after the death of Calisto Yew, Kristoph received a phone call from her successor.

He followed her instructions, and within the hour was walking towards the interrogation room in Los Angeles' largest maximum security prison. He was dressed in a new suit and his nails were expertly manicured. The past few weeks had been good to him, and it showed in his attire and his upkeep, even in his posture. He wanted her to notice--was as concerned with that as he was the job he had been summoned to perform.

At the end of the hall he met a blond man in black and gold. The man was leaning against the wall, and Kristoph speculated he was some manner of escaped punk until he noticed the bulge of a leg brace beneath his pant leg. He must have been the Interpol agent she had mentioned on the phone.

"Kristoph Gavin, attorney," Kristoph introduced as soon as he was in range. He shook the man's hand and tried not to wince at his overbearing grip. "A request was put in at my office that I come here."

"Shi-Long Lang, Interpol." Lang stepped away from the wall, and showed a hint of a limp as he led Kristoph down the next hall. "She's expecting you."

"As I understand, she's been in custody for almost five weeks now," Kristoph said as they walked. "Why has she been denied representation for so long?"

"She wasn't denied anything," Lang was quick to correct him. "She hasn't asked for a lawyer 'till now."

Kristoph frowned. "Has she even been charged yet? It sounds like my client's rights are being infringed on."

"Talk to her yourself," Lang grunted. "We're being more than fair. If we wanted to see her mistreated we would have shipped her off to the other dozen countries that can't wait to get their hands on her."

They reached the visitation room; four guards stood in the hall outside and the door was locked with a keypad. Lang let them in, giving Kristoph his first view of the new woman.

Shih-na was seated at a short square table, dressed in prison orange, her wrists handcuffed to the chair. Her hair was short and straight, and though it had been well bleached, dark roots were visible along her part. She was not wearing any makeup and he felt sorry for her.

If he had not been told to look for her going in, he might not have recognized her. But then she met his gaze, and smiled ever so slightly; his every memory of her blossomed in his brain, and she didn't have to lie to make herself visible after all.

"This is...well, we're not sure what her real name is," Lang said. "But for now we--"

"I know who she is," Kristoph interrupted. Smiling, he strode forward and took a seat next to her. His briefcase clapped on the table. "So let us skip the introductions and move directly into negotiating my client's plea."

"Plea?" Lang's glare danced between them, as if he were unsure which of them deserved it more. "She called you here for _that_?"

Kristoph folded his hands casually on the table. "From the sound of it, it would be pointless for me to contest even half the crimes she's been accused of. And if you really are being as considerate of her rights as you claim...why else would I be here?"

Lang's upper lip twitched as if suppressing some more violent expression. But as angry as he was, something was holding him back--something that pinched the corners of his eyes when he looked to Shih-na. It made Kristoph's blood boil.

"All right," Lang said. "Let's hear it."

Shih-na tipped her chin up, staring straight back at Lang without speaking. That same unintelligible something was in her eyes too, and it made Kristoph hate Lang even more.

"When we spoke on the phone, my client told me she has information about the syndicate she worked for that might be of interest to you," Kristoph continued regardless. "Even though their ringleader has been removed, there are cells all over the world that will continue to function, and even redouble their efforts in order to fill the power vacuum."

"We're aware of that," said Lang. "And _we_ have men all over the world hunting them down. We got plenty of names from Alba already."

Kristoph remained unimpressed. "I highly doubt you've captured them all," he said. "Especially the most dangerous ones."

"Are you underestimating my men?"

"Lang."

Both men started at the sound of Shih-na's voice, though it was much softer than theirs. She stared straight at Lang, her expression carefully even. "I know how good your men are," she said, as captivating as Kristoph had ever seen her. "But there are agents--like me--that they will never find without my help."

The muscles around Lang's jaw tightened. "What makes you think we haven't found them already?"

"Because they told me so."

"What?" Lang stared at her incredulously. "You haven't received a single visitor since you've been here, and--"

"We have ways of communicating," Shih-na said. "Why do you think I waited this long to make my plea? I wanted to be sure that the information I have to give you will be valuable." She tipped her chin up slightly. "And also that the agents I intend to out to you have let their guard down."

Lang continued to stare back at her, his conflict so blatant that Kristoph thought him disgusting. _He_, after all, knew Shih-na well enough to know that this second betrayal of hers was only natural. She was an animal of the wild, a force of nature that survived through any means, and held no alliances.

Lang crossed his arms. "Why should I trust you?" he asked. "You could be sending my men on a wild goose chase in order to keep them away from your real allies."

"I can't give you a good reason to trust me," Shih-na admitted. "But I know that you _want_ to trust me. We've been partners for a long time, haven't we Lang? And I've helped you catch a lot of criminals."

"Yeah," he grunted. "Alba's rivals."

Shih-na went on as if she had not heard him. "There were plenty of times where it would have been easier for me to kill you," she said quietly, and that time he could not argue. "You know I'm good enough that I could have. But I didn't." She licked her lips and lowered her eyes. "I wouldn't have wanted that. After all..." She smirked. "We had some fun, didn't we Lang?"

Lang regarded her in silence for long moments. His face was even but pain was disgustingly evident behind his cold stare. His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated.

"You can trust me on this," Shih-na said after giving him time to contemplate. "I'll tell you everything I know, and then I'll plead guilty to whatever you want."

"I have to discuss it with my superiors," he replied stiffly. "And Edgeworth. He won't like it."

Shih-na's lips twitched. "Good."

Kristoph tapped his nails against the table irritably. "Then why don't you go 'discuss with your superiors,' and let me have a moment of privacy with my client?"

Lang snorted, but he nodded reluctantly and moved to the door. "I'll be back."

Once he was gone Kristoph could not help a scowl. "I can't believe you slept with _that_."

Shih-na's shoulders trembled with repressed laughter. "Was it that obvious?"

"Painfully." Kristoph adjusted his glasses as he turned to better face her. "I understand you do certain things to protect yourself, but honestly. I thought you had higher standards."

"Why, Kristoph." She inclined her head slightly. "Are you jealous?"

"Of course not."

Shih-na raised an eyebrow, but Kristoph changed the subject so that she could not tease him further. "You were telling the truth, weren't you?" he said. "Even with a plea you're facing a life sentence, or even execution." The thought made goose bumps rise up his arms. "Just what is it you want me to do for you?"

She blinked. "I want to be transferred to a prison with less security. That's all."

Kristoph understood instantly.

For the next hour she outlined to him everything she knew, including Alba's favorite trade routes, safe spots, and allies. He took it all in, unquestioning, already forming a plan for what arguments he would make in her favor, which judge he would try to get on the case. The fact that he would most likely have to make his negotiations against a man of Miles Edgeworth's reputation bothered him, but he was resolute. She would be safe by him again. He would provide her with the means to die, with any luck not for the last time.

Lang returned with Miles Edgeworth. The prosecutor looked at him with steely eyes, as if trying to remind Kristoph of a history he was not aware they shared. Whatever Kristoph had done to make an enemy of him, he was glad.

Two weeks later, Shih-na was relocated to a federal prison in another state. The next day she no longer existed.


	4. Part 4

Gyakuten Kenji / Ace Attorney: Investigations, its characters and settings, are property of Capcom and are being used here without permission but for no profit. This fic is rated PG and contains SPOILERS.

**Be My Lady**

Part 4 of 4

* * *

The next time Kristoph saw the women he first knew as Calisto Yew was a few hours before his death.

He was seated on the edge of his cot, looking over the cell that for almost four years had been home. Those years had been quiet, peaceful, and even unexpectedly pleasant. Within his four walls there were no trials to prepare for, no public appearances, no masks to wear and no deceptions to maintain. No past and no future. No Phoenix Wright.

Those years spent in idle contemplation and simplicity were about to come to an end. Kristoph had prepared himself as best he knew how, but there was no halting the slow progress of dread from his stomach towards his brain. He had not slept since his brother's last visit the evening before, and every breath that carried him closer to demise came harder than the last. Panic would set in eventually--he had reconciled himself to that. Despite that he was, to his pride, mostly composed when the guard came to inform him that he had a final visitor.

Kristoph did not look up until the footsteps heading toward his barred cell had ceased. He knew who it was, and the conflict he felt over her appearance was played out against the twisted skin crossing the back of his palm. As satisfied as he was by the thought that she would witness his death, he did not want her to see him then. She, more than anyone, would see the lie that made up his face.

"Hello, Kristoph."

He looked. She was dressed in a black jacket and pleated skirt, and boots that reached her knees. Her hair was long, wavy, and dark, and gold rimmed glasses sat perched on the end of her nose. He had never seen her before but he recognized her anyway.

"Hello," he replied. He smiled. "Whoever you are."

She smiled back. "You can call me whatever you want."

Kristoph stood slowly and moved to the bars, but it was not until the guard moved away to offer them privacy that he continued. "To me, you're still Calisto," he confessed quietly.

"All right." Calisto leaned forward, wrapping her long fingers around the bars. She tilted her head to the side as she looked him over. The years had been kind to her--she was as beautiful as she'd always been, and the freckles just barely visible beneath her concealer were uncommonly reassuring. "Been a long time," she said. "It's good to see you."

Kristoph took the bars just beneath her. "I wish I could say the same." His eyes narrowed. "I didn't want you to see me here."

"It's not any worse than the last time you saw me," she reminded him. She sighed. "Oh, Kristoph. If you needed someone dead, you should have just said 'please.'"

He was shaking his head before she'd finished. "I couldn't. I didn't want to get you involved. And besides." He met her gaze seriously. "I know you don't enjoy killing."

Calisto stared back, unwavering. He watched a lie form and dissipate in her eyes. "Neither do you."

A little tremor slithered up and down Kristoph's spine; he was right to believe she was the only one who would ever know him. The panic that had been gnawing at him for weeks unfurled behind his ribs, and he clenched his jaw, fighting it back. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice weaker than he would have liked it to be. "Are you...here to watch?"

"No." Calisto tilted her chin up. "I've watched enough already. And you know what I've seen?" She crawled her fingers down the bars and covered his hands. "You've been killing yourself for a long time now." When her grip tightened her nails dug into the scar on his palm. "I'm here to finish the job."

His lips parted in surprise, but he found he couldn't draw breath. It was the most terrifying, and most tempting offer ever made to him, and for several beats he could only stare back at her. His hands trembled against the bars. "But...you don't enjoy killing," he said again.

"And you're not going to enjoy what they do to you," Calisto replied. She was remarkably calm, and her steady, dark eyes began to ease the fear out of him, starting with his unsteady hands. "Don't think of it as pity. I just don't like leaving my debts unpaid."

"And this is the best you can do for me." All at once Kristoph realized just how fitting it was, and he chuckled wearily. "I suppose...if it had to be anyone, I would want it to be you," he confessed. "Just so they don't have the satisfaction."

Calisto smiled back, and stood up on her toes as she tilted her head closer to the bars. "Then let me satisfy you."

Kristoph leaned in as well, and though there was only a short space between the bars where they could meet, her lips found his for a slow, deep kiss. She tasted just like he remembered, and her possessive murmur stirred parts of him he'd thought long since dead. Then her tongue prodded against him, and as he opened his mouth to her he felt something small and plastic-y nudged into the pocket of his cheek. He accepted it, and waited for the panic to set in again, but he felt nothing. He even enjoyed the warmth of Calisto's soft mouth for a moment longer before separating.

"You have a big night ahead of you," Calisto whispered as she leaned back on her heels. "I think you should try to sleep. Even if you don't think you'll be able to."

Kristoph tucked the pill behind his molars. "I have the feeling I'll be able to, now that I've seen you," he replied. He took in a deep breath and let it out. "Thank you."

Calisto smiled, just barely, and stepped back. "Wait for me on the other side," she purred.

She left. Kristoph listened to her footsteps, each one a separate farewell. He tried to forget the image of the girl in the black skirt and tall boots as soon as possible, instead preserving in his mind's eye freckles and pink lipstick. That memory of her was no less real than the others he'd seen, but it was the one that had left its mark on him, as she had wanted.

Kristoph returned to his bed. He stretched out on his back with his hands folded over his stomach, pushing the capsule around his mouth with his tongue. With Calisto gone some of his weakness threatened to return, but he closed his eyes and told himself that he was finally free. Free of bitterness and grudges, of a pretense of perfection impossible to maintain, of even the dread of death. When enough time had passed that he was certain Calisto would be out of the prison, he slid the capsule between his teeth and bit down hard.

Hours later, the guards came to Kristoph's cell to prepare him for his execution. At first they thought he was deeply asleep, but when one entered to wake him, he found cold flesh and stillness where a pulse should have been. Everyone looked at each other, no one spoke. They moved his body to the morgue, and reported that his execution had been carried out with all due efficiency.

Hours later, the coroner came to the morgue to prepare Kristoph's body for autopsy and cremation. He found nothing, not even the toe tag. And in fear for his job, he reported that the method of death was suicide by poison, and the cremation had been carried out with all due efficiency.

It was past two in the morning when a man no one had ever seen before, and a woman no one would ever see again, walked into the Los Angeles International Airport and bought two tickets out of the country. They checked one bag each, and passed through security without incident. The plane boarded and departed with similar lack of fanfare and significance, but by the time it landed, two of its passengers had ceased to exist.


End file.
